Somehow, I also found time to read Isocrates end to end. It was, after all, a royal command. I read it, and I caught fire. We could do this thing. It was the Thracian campaign writ large – the biggest challenge of men and logistics since the dawn of the world. I read and reread the philosopher’s words, and began to dream of a new world, where we younger men conquered Persia. I could see it.

The first night back in Pella, Alexander came to my rooms unannounced. This required explanation, too. In the last year, as we were promoted – first by experience, and then by decree – to the ranks of manhood and made royal companions rather than just pages, some of us received apartments in the palace. Other men stayed in the pages’ barracks, and others still bought houses in Pella or rented rooms – remember, some of our number were as poor as peasants.

I had two rooms in the palace. I kept them – they were close to the king and very useful when I was on duty, or when we were awake all night.

But after Pater died and I had Nike, I bought a house in town. I bought a big house – in fact, I bought the house that Aristotle vacated. I moved Nike in as my mistress – in effect, as my wife – and I enlarged the stables to hold twenty horses and invited Cleitus, Philip and my two other best friends among the pages – Nearchus and young Cleomenes – to come and live with me. None of them had any money, and all of them were, in effect, my men. Oh, that’s not fair – Cleitus had his own relationship with Alexander, and Philip the Red was never really mine, but we were all close, we shared loyalties, tastes and friends.

I set up housekeeping in a few hours, or, rather, my new chief of staff, Nike, did – she bought furniture, won over my useless slaves, bought food, bought a cook, found all my friends and moved all their kit into our house, assigned them rooms – all while I was on duty with Antipater.

We were deeply in love, but that love was aided by events and by the fact that we were good allies, too – she wanted to run a household, and I needed a household manager. And by the will of the gods, I got one. A brilliant one. She could find chicken stock in a desert – enough for as many guests as she wanted to have. She was delighted by my body every hour I wanted her – scars and all. She was happy enough to occupy herself when I was busy. She never fawned, and she could read.

I still don’t know what she saw in me.

I get ahead of myself. I was in my rooms at the palace, unbuckling my breastplate and contemplating the short walk ‘home’. In fact, I’d been there once and expected a shambles.

Alexander walked in without warning and started helping me with the buckles under my arms.

‘Did you read Isocrates?’ he asked. As if he’d been waiting for three weeks just to hear my opinion. Which, in a way, was probably true.

‘Every word,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it.’

He stopped fumbling with my buckles. ‘You mean it?’

I remember that moment. It was a week of changes for me, and any astrologer would have been able to tell me, I suspect. ‘We can conquer Asia,’ I said. ‘Your friends. Your team, if you like.’

He kissed me – he never kissed anyone, our golden-haired boy, but he kissed my cheek and pressed me to his chest. ‘Yes!’ he breathed in my ear. ‘I knew you would understand.’

I got out of my armour, stripped, wiped myself down and put on an old chiton and a warm chlamys for the walk home, while he babbled plans. Good plans – it wasn’t that he was babbling nonsense, but that human speech was too slow for the efficient transfer of everything he had to say.

But I hadread Isocrates, so I could keep up with him, and nod or cut him short. I won’t bore you with this, but conversation often sounded like this, to an outsider:

Alexander: We need a navy.

Me (or Hephaestion or Philotas or anyone in the inner circle who could keep up): Ports. We have the wood.

Alexander: Oarsmen.

Me: Amphilopolis. But Athens!

Alexander (sometimes with a chorus of all of us together): It all comes down to Athens.

Me: Isocrates might help.

Alexander: A gift. But we can’t be seen—

Me: We need to find a way to bribe from strength.

Alexander: Good phrase. (So in the next conversation, we’d say ‘Bribe from strength’ without explanation – just as we didn’t need an explanation for the words ‘oarsmen’ because everyone in the inner circle knew that was a code for our complete lack of trained sailors, oarsmen, shipwrights – you get the picture.)

On that day, though, we weren’t with the others. Hephaestion – who knew where he was? He was always Alexander’s right hand, but he had begun to branch out himself – serving maids, boys with nice hair – basically anyone who was alive and wanted to fuck. Alexander was tolerant – amused. And not very interested.

And for whatever reason, Hephaestion never bothered to read Isocrates.

I’m taking my time telling this, because while it was the culmination of my career as a courtier, and in some ways the logical development of my career, it was also the moment at which the knucklebones were cast. For good or ill.

So – I had changed into plain clothes, arranged my armour on its stand, buffed a few flecks of dust off the bronze – I was waiting for Alexander to lose interest so I could go home. That doesn’t mean I wanted him to lose interest – I was a courtier as well as a friend – merely that in the normal run of things, my time would expire and he’d go back to Hephaestion or go to sit with Antipater or go and read letters from his father – listen to court cases, dine with ambassadors, what have you. I’d been back for three days and on duty the whole time, and while I loved having his attention – his entirely favourable attention – I was really looking forward to putting my mouth over Nike’s and feeling her breath in my chest.

Alexander was arguing both sides of the notion of starting the Hellenic conquest of Asia in Aegypt when he looked up. He was a little shorter than I, with tousled, leonine blond hair and darting eyes. My blond hair was darker, with some brown in it, but curly enough – I was taller, and had the big nose. Hah! Still do.

He grinned. ‘I’m hungry. Let’s go and steal some food in the kitchen.’

I didn’t even think. ‘Come to my house,’ I said. ‘I’m sure there’s food. Better than stealing from the companions’ cook!’ I shrugged. ‘It’s not one of Aristotle’s foolish exercises.’

Alexander’s eyes flicked away and then back. ‘You have a house?’ he asked.

‘Aristotle’s house,’ I said. ‘I bought it. My pater – well, I’m a rich man now.’

Alexander laughed. ‘Wait for me,’ he said.

A minute later, he appeared in a companion’s dun-coloured cloak. ‘Let’s go. I hope you didn’t buy Aristotle’s cook?’

‘I didn’t. But to be honest, I haven’t been home since I bought the place. It’ll be chaos. I invited Cleitus to come and live with me – but he’s on watch tonight. And Philip and Nearchus, I think . . .’ I remember yawning. Alexander walked along next to me – for a few minutes, we were two young men at large in Pella. And woe betide the bodyguard who was supposed to be on duty.

We walked the three streets in no time. We didn’t talk about anything that I remember, until he said, ‘Well, it’s lit up. That’s something. Your slaves knew you were coming.’

In fact, there were two slaves in the door yard – Nichomachus and another I didn’t know. Nichomachus saw me, saw Alexander and darted inside. The new boy just kept cutting apples.

‘I think we’re in luck,’ I said. The smell coming into the courtyard was excellent – lamb, fresh bread, something with herbs in it.

Alexander paused. ‘You are married,’ he said.

‘I have a housekeeper,’ I admitted. ‘I like her a lot.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘This I need to see.’

And he followed me into what proved to be my own house.